Good To See You
by minerrvas
Summary: "A true soldier fights not because she hates what is in front of her, but because she loves what is behind her." Happy 80th birthday, Minerva McGonagall!


**I had this one in my drafts for months, so I decided to finally put it up here, and what better date is there than Minerva's birthday (AND ALSO MINE)? Please excuse me for enforcing the drunk-crazy Rolanda Hooch stereotype. You have to admit, though, it is gold. Keep in mind Minerva is religious. (That's why I chose to write 'God' instead of 'fate'.) I'm not. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **A true soldier fights not because she hates what is in front of her, but because she loves what is behind her.**

The battlefield was roaring. Explosions and fire were everywhere, and the bodies on the ground could've looked like they were simply watching fireworks on a nice starless night, had they still been breathing. The bodies – children once, all of them – were scattered all over the ground, Order members, students and Death Eaters alike. Minerva had no time to discern who was who – she was too busy becoming not one of those bodies, while trying to save her remaining pupils' lives as well.

The disconcerting thing was, she couldn't.

There were too many students, too many Death Eaters, and she was one Minerva, and apparently that wasn't enough, for she knew she could never reach the children that were thrown Unforgivable Curses at in time. Not all of them. Yet she tried and felt every single muscle of hers ache and she didn't stop. Running, shouting, heart pounding, throwing spells at anyone who dared threaten the students. And once in a while, in the middle of a crossfire, she would wonder, with a familiar wetness in her eyes, why she hadn't died yet herself.

She had survived, always, every time. So many times. What made it all fatal were the persons she had outlived. Albus. Elphinstone. Robert, her baby brother. Amelia. Lily, James, Sirius– Countless students. People – children – she had taught. _She wasn't supposed to see them die before her._ Or was she? Was this God's plan for her?

 _Scratch that, Minerva, don't let your last resort be Divination–_

But so many children, why–

Harry.

 _Harry._

 _No._

 _"NO!"_

The fight had been over for quite some time. The wounded were being tended to, the wounded beyond help were long dead, and the heavy atmosphere in the Great Hall would have sure been able to choke somebody. There was choking, after all, but the cause were tears from somebody mourning for a loved one. Loved ones, sometimes. In moments like these Minerva understood how it felt like to be part of a family which was being ripped apart.

And as they all saw a mass of black people appearing, she was one of the first to go outside – she was considered the leader now, after all. The next thing she saw was something – or rather someone – in Hagrid's arms. Suddenly her whole world felt like turning, and she saw white for a moment.

* * *

 **The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.**

It was over for good. That's what she told herself over and over. Yet, she could not believe her own thoughts while she looked at the dozens of corpses before her. It didn't feel like a victory. More like a massacre only narrowly won.

Minerva McGonagall was currently standing in front of the High Table, overlooking the scene. She had already dealt with the Ministry and the now-captured Death Eaters, and now she needed to make sure everything was in order here so she could soon go up and do all the necessary paperwork. To her office, that is. _Her_ office, again. Two people had had to die in order for her to have permanent access to it, and since she had a feeling that she hadn't quite collected all pieces of the puzzle, she was confused and, most of all, angry. And sad. Tired.

That didn't make for a good combination, not exactly. What was one supposed to feel in such a situation? She had already endured it all once, after all. The flying hexes, the death, the screaming, the loss… Now she had relived it, and she still had no idea.

But someone had to care about business.

"Minerva?"

 _Oh, Poppy, I really don't need you right now._

"You should sit down. I got you tea." And indeed, there she was. Her best friend, in her mediwitch apron – were that specks of blood on the white material? –, holding a steaming mug of tea. Poppy had always been a dear, and controlling. She couldn't be put off without an argument, that Minerva knew.

That didn't mean she wasn't willing to try.

"Poppy, I don't have time. I need to write letters."

"Take the tea with you, at least. You need to stay hydrated and warm if you want to lock yourself up for the rest of the day. _And no arguments,_ " Poppy said with a frown and a look of concern in her sky-like eyes. Even when she tried, she couldn't keep the fatigue out of her voice when trying to sound stern. Not now. Not here, where clouds were settling on the horizon.

The beginning of a frown had started to show on Minerva's face as well, but she quickly collected herself before offering her friend a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She felt as if her inner reserves were empty, sucked dry by the sheer amount of expressionless eyes and grief.

"Alright."

If Poppy was surprised, she didn't show it, instead managing to put on a weak smile, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. Minerva briefly wondered how they had all aged so quickly in the span of less than a year – if, indeed, the process hadn't already begun before terror had begun its reign over Hogwarts. Old, beloved Hogwarts.

It all lay in ashes now.

Forcing back the sudden tears pooling beneath emerald irises, Minerva accepted the cup of tea being pushed into her hands as distant moans violated her ears. The hot steam wafting against her nose as she looked down at the brown liquid made her realise how cold she really was. Blatantly ignoring the sudden chilliness crawling through her flesh, she looked up to thank her friend. (She wouldn't, couldn't, be rude, even while she felt as if her skull was being torn at. She wouldn't, couldn't, ever be able to endure any of it without the support of the people she– loved.)

Her eyes fell on empty air. She suddenly felt the strong urge to sit down, but she couldn't give in now.

"–Professor McGonagall?"

Minerva really could have wept.

Before her on the steps came the boy with messy black hair and that small scar on his forehead. The skin there was bloodied and dirty, where, some seventeen years ago, it had still been clear of any horror of this world. His green eyes had been so bright and innocent once. And, even though Potter was smiling a little, now there laid a shadow upon them. She didn't know how big the one presently occupying his soul was. She wasn't sure she really wanted know. Before her stood the boy who had defeated _Voldemort_. Before her stood Harry.

"Potter– It's good to see you." Her voice shook a little. His eyes glistened with moisture. _Oh, Lily._

"It's good to see you, too, Professor."

* * *

 **No one really knows why they're alive until they know what they'd die for.**

"My dear, I'm quite sincere when I say I'd give you cat socks if I were able to. I heard this winter is going to be fairly chilly."

"I didn't know you were able to receive a weather forecast for the _next season_ in your _frame_."

"Oh, you know, the portraits do talk quite a lot." Such original information.

"Be that as it may, thank you, I'm in no need of socks. My wardrobe is quite full."

"Yet you continue to complain about these cold feet of yours every winter. I wonder..."

" _No cat socks, Albus._ Not even imaginary ones."

His blue eyes twinkled. Minerva just shook her head, smiling.

Various presents were standing on her desk, some even on the floor, all already opened. It was evening, the party was done with and the Headmistress was finally able to relax in solitude. A rather intoxicated Rolanda Hooch had protested at the closing announcement, of course, arguing that a party wasn't a proper party if it didn't go until after midnight and it was simply impossible of Minerva to stay blank sober on her birthday. (The latter had just snorted. She was becoming _80_ , for Merlin's sake! Only two decades were left until her life would extend to a whole century, and the woman expected her to get drunk and mimick the behaviour of a baboon?) Even so, Minerva didn't rebel completely against Rolanda's wishes. Poppy, Pomona (who had especially come up to the castle) and she had met for a glass of sherry or two in her quarters after the mediwitch had made sure Madam Hooch was safe asleep (and locked up) in her rooms. Reminiscing on it all, Minerva had to admit it had been a most enjoyable day all around.

Poppy's present had been a book observing Scottish behaviour and obscenities – Minerva had had to suppress a chuckle upon seeing it. She would start reading it tonight. Neville, the dear boy, _Professor Longbottom now_ , had given her a small plant with burgundy red leaves enchanted to meow whenever someone was coming up the steps to the Headmistress' office, and, as alternative, meow whenever Minerva meowed (in her Animagus form, of course). She wasn't sure whether Filius had or had not helped with the necessary charms, for which one had to have a certain knowledge of the structure of her office. The small fellow had gifted her a set of scarfs enchanted to adjust to the temperature, as in becoming ice cold on sweaty summer days, for example – though she wasn't exactly sure she would dare wear it in public in the hot months. Malcolm, her little bràthair, had announced he would have time to host a dinner party at his family's house next weekend to celebrate again since he was as daft as to be abroad with his wife, Elsie, at the beginning of October – their absence was why she had celebrated at Hogwarts in the first place. He had sent her some Uruguayan alcohol, new pictures of her grandnephews and -nieces and books though.

There also was dear Hermione, who had sent her various books and cut-out articles on the newest developments in the field of Transfiguration, some drawings from her children of Hogwarts and _– even Minerva herself_ ( _"I thought you might enjoy looking at these"_ ), along with a written, very extensive, apology she wouldn't be able to stop by today, insisting the Department kept her busy even on Sundays at the present, though she would have time to make a firecall a bit later in the evening. Firecall or not, Minerva relished every bit of their close friendship. Ronald's present had been a floating miniature model of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team beating the Slytherins and a small figure with square glasses, grey hair and a pointed hat holding up the Quidditch House Cup. Needless to say, she had found it quite charming (though she wasn't exactly suposed to be biased as Headmistress).

Meowing. The plant on her desk was meowing. Minerva quickly sat up straight on the couch where she had just been wriggling her aching toes and made the empty bottle of sherry and three glasses vanish with a flick of her right hand, ignoring how much her veins stood out beneath weary skin in the light of the fire. There were two shy knocks on the door and, after a moment, it was opened.

The sight of his messy black hair always made her smile these days. Maybe she was becoming that stereotype sentimental old woman after all. (The thought of it made her shiver.)

"It's good to see you, Harry. Really."

"It's good to see you, too, Minerva. I wouldn't dare not showing up on your birthday. They say you only become 80 once."

"I'm aware," she replied, pretending to be annoyed and pulling her mouth into a thin line, the corners slowly turning up with amusement. Harry, fully grown now, _a man_ , smiled widely and stepped into the room before closing the door behind him. He took a few steps in her direction, cradling a small package in his hands.

"That's my present. I'm afraid I didn't really have any original ideas this year– I asked a friend for help. So, well, it's not really only from me."

"A friend?" Minerva asked, eyeing the boy with new curiosity. (He would always remain a boy to her.)

"Yes, just– Open it," he replied, holding out the package to her. It was red and green, with a quarterlike design. She remained sitting and took it, slowly tearing the paper apart. Inside was a simple-looking light brown box. _"For Minerva"_ was written in the middle with black ink. Said witch gave Harry an indiscernible look before she took off the top.

It were cat socks.

Minerva began to laugh. Harry began to laugh. She murmured "Come here". She pulled him into a heartfelt hug. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore smiled. The twinkling in his eyes increased maniacally.

Most importantly, her toes remained warm that night.


End file.
